


All of Me

by Elvendork



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Multi, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2231136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=13454817#cmt13454817">prompt</a>. As children, many people develop a soulmate mark - sometimes two or three of them, but rarely more. At twenty-nine, Arthur has more than sixty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of Me

**Author's Note:**

> De-Anonning (and slightly edited) from the meme. I hadn't been active on it (not counting prompt sequels) for over a year - closer to two actually - until about a week ago, but it looks like I'm back now... I hope you enjoy my first ever soulmate AU, which went a lot further than I originally thought it would.

Not everyone gets a mark, and not everyone who does will find their match anyway. Even those who do don’t always end up living happily ever after, so it’s not a totally reliable system.

For those lucky – or, Carolyn sometimes thinks, unlucky – enough to develop one, it usually begins appearing at around ten years old or so, although occasionally not until twenty and sometimes even later. They can take weeks or even months or years to fully materialise.

Some people await them eagerly and put a great deal of stock into finding the person that they indicate. Some people dismiss them entirely; either they have one and do not care, or they don’t and are happy as they are. Some who have them pretend not to; some who don’t have them pretend that they do.

The marks represent a person’s soulmate. It can be as simple as a name, clearly written in neat block capitals across a wrist, or elaborate script curled around an ankle, or looped around a finger. Sometimes it is initials, imprinted over their heart or on their palms or at their shoulder. Or it could be a picture, a symbol; a flower, a bird, a leaf. These are the most difficult to interpret, although even names are prone to error.

Soulmates are not necessarily romantic. In fact they are platonic just as often as not; parents and children; siblings; best friends. It is not even completely unheard of to have more than one, although it is not exactly usual, and hardly ever more than two or three at most.

Carolyn was twenty-three before hers finished developing, although it had started several years previously.

Hers is a symbol (of course it is – of course it couldn’t be something easy to figure out). It is an aeroplane. At first she has no idea what it means – how obscure might the reference be, anyway? She does not know anyone who works in the aviation industry yet, nor even anyone with a more than passing interest in planes.

Her first marriage comes and goes, and she is never under any illusions that he is her mysterious soulmate, but she is happy with him for a time. It does not last. She moves on, and does not make a point of searching for whoever the aeroplane symbolises (although the more she scrutinises the little image on her upper arm, the more she suspects she _can_ see a letter – an S, perhaps, on the tailfin?). She has more important things to do.

She would not even admit to herself quite how much of a jolt it had given her to learn that this pilot she has been flirting with is called Gordon _Shappey_. She does not tell him about the plane. He does not ask, even when he sees it for himself. He seems to assume it is him, or else he doesn’t care.

She is three months pregnant when she notices, on the right of her slowly swelling belly, the faint swirls of a new symbol. It seems ever changeable, and never defined enough to name until she reaches almost eight months (by which time it is an extremely fuzzy teddy-bear), but she knows from the first sight that it is the symbol of her son.

Arthur is born with the name _Carolyn_ curled in a tight spiral over his heart and surrounded by a ring of rose thorns; fierce, and loving, and willing to protect her son at all costs, his mother knows that it is for her. She has never been happier.

For the first few years of Arthur’s life, Carolyn is run off her feet and stressed beyond belief a lot of the time, but she knows with absolute certainty that she would do anything for this child – _anything_ – she would die before she let him be hurt. There is an aching, bone-deep conviction that this boy, _her son_ , is bound to her soul in a way that she has never felt with Gordon or with anyone or anything else, ever before.

He is eight when his second mark appears. Things between his parents are tense, but not nearly as bad as they will become in future. It is a flower – a tiny thing, hardly bigger than his own thumbnail – on the top of his wrist. The fact that his best friend at the time is a girl named Daisy is not lost on either of his parents. Arthur is overjoyed; Carolyn is warily delighted for her son’s happiness, and even Gordon seems pleased.

By the time Arthur is ten his parents are on a shaky truce. He has many friends. Daisy is still the closest of all, but Arthur – known only to himself and Carolyn – is developing a new mark; an inch-high _T_ just in the crook of his right elbow.

It is the beginning of his final year of primary school when a new boy joins and instantly makes a trio with the existing best friends. His name is Tim.

At twelve, Arthur’s parents are falling apart again, and he has a fourth mark. No one knows to whom it belongs. It is barely more than a smudge at first, and takes a long time to develop. By the time it is discernible as the letter _H_ , two more have joined it. The H – which judging by the blurriness to its right will soon extend into an entire word – is across his collarbone on the right. Now a bird – Carolyn thinks perhaps a swift – is quickly taking shape on his left forearm. It is the biggest of his marks so far. The newest is a name, written in beautiful cursive along the top edge of one of the swift’s wings (although Arthur does not think they are part of the same symbol). The name is Douglas.

There is a brief pause, now, and Carolyn hopes that this is it. It does not seem to hurt Arthur to have so many new marks appearing; he seems nothing less than ecstatic to see the physical evidence of how many people he is connected to, but she is worried. The doctor is baffled, his teachers are openly curious, strangers watch when he passes in the street – four clearly visible marks (six overall) is a near-unique occurrence anyway, but in someone so young it is somehow unnerving.

More than anything, Carolyn does not want Arthur to be hurt. His being so deeply connected to so many people cannot possibly be good for him; there is far too much opportunity for him to have his heart broken. Besides which, the stares and questions are getting more and more out of hand. No one seems _malicious_ – but baldly, rudely inquisitive, and intent on treating her son like some novelty toy, because no one has ever seen anything like it before. It only gets worse as he enters puberty and another five – ten – fifteen marks blossom across his arms and back.

Arthur takes to wearing long sleeves of his own volition, which worries Carolyn more than ever. If it has got to the point that it is bothering _him_ then it must be even worse than she thought.

He will not tell her where his black eye comes from. She guesses, and does not tell him – or Gordon – that she will be having words with his teachers about the potential bullying problem at their school.

By fifteen, Arthur has more than thirty marks. Even his mother doesn’t know about the most recent of them. He knows perhaps half of the people they represent and he has told her about those, but he does not want to bother her with the constant news that _another_ one is developing. She has her own issues to be dealing with. His arms are almost full, and they have spread up and across his shoulder-blades. He has one on his ankle – the name _Gerry_ coiled inside one of the leaves of a simple clover – and another – freshly formed and as yet unidentifiable – just above his knee.

It is sometimes exhilarating to take off his shirt in the privacy of his bedroom and examine the multitudes of names and symbols intertwined around his arms. He can inspect the smallest details; can try to assign those that are still unattached. He can revel in the feeling of loving and being loved by so many, so much.

He can let himself cry when he traces the delicate lines of the names he knows, and loves, but who know and do not love him. He can let himself fear for what will happen to them all. What will he do if ever they are hurt? He could not stand it. He would rather they were all well and hated him, than that any of them suffered the slightest injury.

He can let himself rage at the injustice of being _mocked_ for his marks, for the evidence of how very, very much he _cares_.

He can think about the mark over his heart, the mark of his mother’s fierce love and protection, and he can despair that there is nothing he can do to protect _her_.

00000

Eventually Arthur stops developing new marks.

At least, the rate slows down to the point that it is perhaps only one every three or four years, or less. At twenty-nine, he has upwards of sixty marks. He still wears long sleeves. He is still the only one who knows the full number. He can assign an identity to almost all of them, although many of them have no idea of it themselves. Martin and Douglas certainly don’t. Arthur has learned the hard way that revealing to someone that they are soulmates is not always advisable. Many people, who would be flattered if he had just one or two marks, cannot process the idea of being one among dozens. The jealousy is too much. They do not understand that Arthur does not have a finite amount of love that he must divide among them all – he has an endless supply which he would lavish on every one of them, given the opportunity.

He understands. He does, really. And he is not angry with them, although he was for a while as a teenager and he knows that his mother often still is. He accepts it. It is difficult for them; it is not their fault. And he can’t pretend that it isn’t confusing sometimes, to try and separate the intensity of the soulmate bond from the urgency of romantic attraction, or to figure out which of his many soulmates needs him most right now.

So he stays with MJN, and he keeps his mouth shut. It isn’t that he lies; it’s just that no one ever asks. No one who does not see it for themselves would be believe it anyway, and he never takes his shirt off or rolls up his sleeves where anyone might see.

He is tempted sometimes, though. If he can trust anyone, would it not be Martin and Douglas?

But he has been hurt by rejection before, and he knows for a fact his mother has.

(She thought he did not see the pain it caused her to realise that it would never, could never work with his father, her apparent soulmate. He did.)

It takes less than five seconds for all of this to come crashing down around his ears, in the very best way possible. It is as he is introduced to the pilots they are supposed to be flying to Newcastle.

It is as he is introduced to one of these pilots in particular.

 _Hercules Shipwright_.

Arthur isn’t sure if the tingle on his collarbone is real or imagined, and he doesn’t much care.

 _Hercules_.

It was only the fourth mark he ever got. It was the one that tipped him from “unusual” to “practically unique” in terms of numbers. He remembers watching it grow, wondering constantly what it would read when it was finished.

And while even after so many, meeting a soulmate is never a trivial thing… there is something much more important happening right now, and it has to do with the look on his mother’s face as she watches this new pilot. It has _everything_ to do with that look.

Arthur has seen his mother’s marks. He has seen the aeroplane that sits on her bicep, although not for a long time because after the divorce she had taken a leaf out of Arthur’s book, and now makes a habit of covering it up.

He has seen the S on the tailfin. The S his mother had assumed meant _Shappey_ , though she had never felt the emotional connection she thought she ought to have (she has never admitted as much to Arthur, but he is more intuitive than he is given credit for, and he has always known it).

S. Shappey.

Or… Shipwright?

00000

In the grand scheme of things this is fairly inconsequential of course, although obviously immensely significant to those involved. Soulmates meet every day, somewhere in the world.

The key thing is that it gives Arthur _hope_. Carolyn’s situation is quite different to his own, but seeing her handle it so very well… it gives him courage. For the first time since he was a teenager he begins seriously considering letting someone other than his mother see his marks.

It is a long time until he acts, though. He has years of self-imposed secrecy to overcome; secrecy which has fed, without his even noticing, unreasonable fears, seeded doubts he never knew existed, nurtured worry he had never known was this intense.

He wonders how would be best to go about it. Should he prepare them? Martin and Douglas only, of course. Should he make a big deal of it, or merely roll his sleeves up, or remove his jumper, and let them notice for themselves? It will not take long, he knows.

Sometimes he thinks he would like to just get it over with.

Sometimes he can’t wait – it will be wonderful to finally be completely honest, to finally let these two know how much they _really_ mean to him.

Sometimes he is terrified. So terrified he can hardly move. What if they reject him? It has happened less than half of the time he has shown one of his soulmates just how many marks he has. But the pain of it is enough that even once would be too much. He does not think he could cope if Martin and Douglas were to turn on him as well.

In the end, the choice is taken out of his hands.

Or rather, he makes the choice himself, and freely – but only because he cannot, he _cannot_ let Martin go without telling him just how important he is – how very, _very_ important.

It is after the flight home from Yverdon-Les-Bains. Martin and Douglas are in the flight deck. Herc and Carolyn have already left the plane.

Martin could be leaving. He could be _leaving_ , and of course Arthur will stay in touch, he has to, but it will not be the same, nothing will ever be the same without him.

Perhaps it is because he has spent the most time with them, but of all of his soulmates – and he loves every one of them, even those who have rejected him, with all of the immense depth and breadth of his heart and every ounce of his soul – he is closest to these few. He is closest to his family; his mother, and Douglas, and Martin – and Herc.

He does not want to lose them.

So he approaches the cockpit warily. His heart feels as though it is in his throat, and is hammering wildly. He feels slightly sick. His hands are shaking.

He has to do this. If he doesn’t do it now, he will lose his courage. They have to _know_.

He takes a deep breath, and taps at the flight deck door.

Martin calls out for him to come in, sounding slightly confused – when has Arthur ever needed permission before?

Martin and Douglas both know that something is wrong as soon as they see him. Arthur can tell by their faces. They are both frowning with concern and twisting in their seats to look at him more closely. Martin even makes as if to rise to his feet, but Arthur waves him down.

‘What’s wrong?’ Martin asks quickly.

‘Arthur?’ prompts Douglas, when the steward does not answer. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ Arthur assures them, which is sort of true. He’s just _terrified_ , that’s all. ‘I’ve just got – there’s something – can I tell you something? I mean show you something. Is that okay? It’s okay if not. It’s brilliant if not. No – it’s not brilliant, it’s –’

‘Arthur, calm down,’ Douglas interrupts, getting up and gently pulling Arthur around so that he can sit in his place. ‘Just tell us what’s wrong.’ He has never seen Arthur like this.

‘Nothing’s wrong!’ Arthur exclaims, a little too forcefully. ‘Everything’s fine. Brilliant! I just – I didn’t want –’

To even Douglas’s poorly disguised horror, Arthur’s eyes fill with tears.

‘Arthur, what’s the _matter_?’ Martin presses. ‘We promise we won’t – whatever it is you’re worried about, you can tell us.’ He looks mildly guilty as he says this, as though running through his own recent actions to try and identify the cause of Arthur’s distress.

‘I don’t want you to leave without knowing,’ mutters Arthur, tugging his right sleeve down over his hand and speaking more to his wrist than to the pilots.

‘Without knowing what?’ Martin asks, as the guilty look intensifies.

‘I’m – I have – you’re…’ He trails away.

‘Arthur,’ says Douglas firmly, ‘whatever it is, you can say it without us getting angry, or laughing, or judging you in any way. We won’t even tell your mother, will we Martin?’

‘Of course not,’ Martin agrees quickly. Arthur shakes his head.

‘Mum already knows,’ he says, in hardly more than a whisper. ‘Well… sort of. I don’t know if she knows about – but mostly, she –’

‘Arthur, breathe,’ Douglas instructs. ‘It’s okay. I promise.’ He casts a look of intense concern at Martin, who returns it in equal measure. Neither of them have ever seen Arthur in anywhere _near_ a state like this.

‘It’s… well.’ Arthur takes a very deep breath and seems to steady himself for a long moment, closing his eyes briefly. ‘It’s this.’

Quickly, before he can change his mind, he pushes both his sleeves up past his elbows and forces himself to look at their faces.

They both look… Stunned. Shocked. Relieved. Curious. Confused.

‘Arthur – what?’ Martin croaks after several long seconds.

‘They’re my marks,’ explains Arthur, now no longer able to look them in the eyes. ‘There’s about sixty of them. All the way up my arms and on my back, and some on my chest and neck – and I’ve got a few on my legs too, and that one’s you, Skip,’ Arthur points to the swift on his forearm. ‘And –’

‘That’s me,’ Douglas finishes in a strange voice, his eyes fixed on the name scrawled across the top of the bird’s wing.

‘Yes,’ says Arthur, hanging his head. He looks ashamed. ‘I couldn’t let you leave without telling you Skip. I couldn’t. But people don’t always understand, and they think I don’t care because there’s lots of them but it’s not true, honestly, I love them all – I love you all – and I’ve got one for Mum over my heart, that’s the oldest one, I’ve had it since I was born, and she has one for me and it’s a teddy-bear only don’t tell her I said that, and Herc –’

‘It’s okay, Arthur,’ Douglas repeats. His eyes look oddly wet, but his voice is completely steady.

‘What?’ Arthur stops in his tracks, entirely unprepared for such a calm response. He blinks in confusion. ‘You… it’s okay?’

‘Of course it is,’ says Martin. His voice is less steady. ‘And if anyone tells you otherwise, then they don’t deserve you.’

‘Hear, hear,’ says Douglas. Arthur’s face splits into a watery grin.

‘And do you want to know something else?’ Douglas continues, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and pulling it aside to reveal, in the space below his left collarbone, a mark of his own. Or several, intertwined. There are two balloons, connected at the base of their strings, which forms the base of a V as they stretch out above. Arthur assumes they represent one or both of his daughters. His attention is more focused, however, on the shape between them. Nestled comfortably in the gap between the balloons is almost the exact replica of his mother’s teddy-bear – the mark she developed before he was even born, the mark he knows represents him. He has seen that mark before; not all of his soulmates have had it (some had other marks to represent him, and some had none at all), but enough that he is more than familiar with it. It has never caused him quite this much joy before, though.

There is a difference to his mother’s bear, though, which momentarily turns Martin speechless as well. It is wearing a Captain’s hat decorated with the letters MJN. Arthur could cry with happiness, and he suspects Martin is quite close as well. Certainly the Captain opens and closes his mouth several times before he manages to react properly.

‘I’m… You both…?’

Martin swallows and appears to steel himself for something. Neither Arthur nor Douglas speak or urge him on in any way; they know how personal and how difficult this is.

Eventually, he twists in his seat so that his back is to them. Then, very slowly, he raises one hand to push up his hair and the other to pull down his collar. There, hidden from view almost entirely unless deliberately revealed, is another near-identical replica of the bear. This time the letters MJN are traced across its chest, and it is wearing not a pilot’s hat, but a crown. The initials _DR_ can be seen in elegant, curling letters underneath the bear.

Once the quiet, stunned scrutiny becomes too uncomfortable to continue, Martin releases his hair and collar and turns back around where he sits.

‘So,’ says Douglas. He sounds a little shell-shocked. ‘That was… something.’

Arthur has silent tears running down his face.

‘You can’t leave,’ he whispers, without thinking. ‘Skipper, you can’t – I mean no, stupid, obviously you can, you should, you deserve – but I don’t want – I want you to be happy, but –’

‘No,’ says Martin, and the only thing that is surprising is how easy this decision is to make, after all. ‘No, I can’t leave.’

‘But you deserve –’

‘I am happy, Arthur,’ Martin interrupts. He smiles gently. ‘Truly happy.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Douglas repeats.


End file.
